“Note?”
“Wh-what?”
“Do you have a note from a parent stating the reasons why we should move you from French class to Spanish this late in the year?”
I lowered my eyes. “I can get one.”
“Come back when you do. That’s all.”
Beaten, I turned and slunk out of the office. That one class could ruin everything. I had to call Elizabeth—Mama.
The nearest pay phone booth sat across the street in front of the Wildcat Café. No one was allowed to leave school until the first lunch period at eleven thirty. I’d have to scoot over there and pray no one saw me.
A directory hung on a wire beneath the phone. At least I remembered the name of the law firm Elizabeth worked for. I found the five-digit number only to realize I’d left my purse in Julie’s locker. No alternative but to work the dime out of the coin slot of my loafer. The receptionist put me right through.
“Mama,” I began, but she cut me off.
“Julie! What’s wrong? Are you calling long distance?”
“It’s Carmen,” I said under my breath, in case, by some magical means, my voice was being broadcast out into the world.
I could hear her relief. “What’s the problem?”
I told her, and she promised to call the school immediately.
“But it may not work,” she warned. “When Principal Younger says he wants a note, he won’t accept anything else. Oh, Lord! I can’t take much more.”
At that moment, who should come sauntering out of the Wildcat Café but Bubba John Younger. I told Elizabeth I’d call her back and leaped out of the phone booth right into his path. His eyes popped.
“Julie Morgan! What are you up to, sneaking out here to use the pay phone?”
“You sneaked out here yourself, it would appear,” I said with a smirk.
He cocked his head. “My mom says anyone in a small town like El Dorado who uses a pay phone is having an affair. Folks who aren’t up to no good just knock on somebody’s door and ask to make a call.”
Astonished, I blinked.
“I know, I know,” he said, draping one of his big-muscled arms around my shoulders. “You’re not some grown-up sneaking around using pay phones to call your squeeze.” He lost his joviality and peered into my face. “But what the hey are you doing using the pay phone?”
“Bubba John, do you like me?” I asked, turning on the coy approach, complete with batting eye lashes.
He laughed. “A lot more today than I did last week. You’ve changed, girl. Warmed up.” He squeezed my shoulder. “You must have had quite a good weekend.”
If you only knew.
“Listen, Bubba John, would you do me a favor?”
“Sure, honey. The backseat of my car or yours?”
I pulled away from him. “That’s not what I mean.”
“I was afraid of that,” he said with a yuk.
“I need a note to get transferred out of French class. Would you write it for me?”
“You mean get out of French for good? Won’t your mom write it?”
“She will, but she can’t until tonight. I need it now. Today.”
He raised one eyebrow. “Why the big rush?”
I scrambled for a believable explanation. “I’m going to flunk if I have to take the mid-semester test today. I want to take Spanish. I’d be good at that.”
He thought a minute. “If I write this note for you, will you go out with me next Saturday night?”
“It’s a date.”
I grabbed the notebook tucked under his arm and yanked out a clean sheet of paper.
“My old man reads every friggin’ one of these notes, you know. What if he sniffs out that it’s my writing?”
“I’ll risk it, but hurry up. I have to get back up to band class.”
“I guess it’ll be worth a whuppin’ since I’m getting a date with you out of it.”
He took my splinted finger and held it up for examination.
“When you gonna get that bandage off, honey?”
“Four more weeks,” I said, wiggling the finger from his grip.
“At least you won’t be able to fight me off with only one good hand,” he said, giving me the hen-scratched note. “Pick you up at seven, and wear something low cut, will ya? My big fingers are clumsy with the little bitty buttons you girls wear.”
Chapter 14
OH! WHAT A TANGLED WEB WE WEAVE
After lunch, Bubba John stopped me to exchange a brief word in the hall.
“Did that old biddy in the office swallow the note?”
“Hook, line, and sinker,” I said, grinning all over my face at how cool it was I’d gone fishing just the day before yesterday and learned what that expression referred to.
The old biddy in the office only had to switch Julie’s American History class in order for me to go to Mrs. Brandon’s fifth period Spanish class, which I had attended every day as Carmen.
When I swung into the room, Mrs. Brandon spoke with only a glance at me.
“Buenos días, Carmen.”
Like a shot, I tensed. That same instant she did a double take, her papers splaying onto the floor.
“I thought you went abroad with your mother,” she said, amazement on her face.
I took a momentary pause, in order to keep straight in my own mind who I was.
“Carmen did go abroad.” I yanked open Julie’s purse—which I had decided to keep with me at all times in case I needed more dimes—and handed the transfer slip to her. “I’m Julie, and I’m transferring from French to Spanish because I’m having trouble parlez-vooing.”
Mrs. Brandon rubbed her forehead. “I’m confused.”
I made a throwaway gesture. “Everybody is always getting us mixed up. You’re by no means the only one.”
She studied my face with semi-frantic eyes. “And you’re . . . ?”
“I’m Julie Morgan.”
“Well, Julie . . .” She thought a moment before stooping to gather up her papers. I dropped down to help her. Meeting my eyes, she said, “You shouldn’t give up your French. Besides, you’ll be behind starting Spanish this late, even if it is only first year.”
“I won’t be behind,” I said, carefully choosing my words so as not to blow it. “Carmen tutored me in Spanish before she left. She said I was a real quick study.”
Mrs. Brandon studied my transfer slip. “I guess, if the office approved it, I have to go along.” With a quick glance at me, she pointed to the back of the room. “You can keep your old seat.”
We exchanged startled looks.
“I mean, Julie, you can take Carmen’s old seat.”
It didn’t occur to me until later that I hadn’t asked which seat was Carmen’s, nor had Mrs. Brandon’s expression changed when I, as Julie, went straight to it and sank down, exhausted. I was getting all tangled up in my lies.
—||—
It got tougher when the school day ended and I headed out to join the carpoolers at the Dreamsicle. Della, Rhonda, and Faye, looking like three harpies in their bat-winged sweaters, turned dark eyes on me as I passed the flagpole, their perpetual hangout.
When I waved, Della beckoned to me.
“Come here, Carmen. We thought you’d gone to England.”
Uh-oh. Those three Dilberts had been my only friends up until today. We’d done everything together. No wonder they thought I was me. Doing some fast thinking, I hung a detour toward them.
“I’m Julie,” I said in the friendliest manner I could muster. “You’re right. Carmen has gone to England.”
Doubt filled their faces.
Della laughed and shook her head, as if to get rid of cobwebs in her brain.
“Julie? Come on, cut it out.”
“No, really. I am Julie.”
“She is,” Rhonda said. “I remember that dress she has on.”
“Then what’s different about today that you’d bother to talk to us?” Faye said in a snide tone.
Belatedly re
membering the tension that had existed between Julie and them since she got into the in-crowd, I powdered down my friendly approach.
“What can I do for you?”
Their reason for the breakup between Julie and them was they’d thought she was trying to steal Eugene Hoffmeyer from Rhonda. I knew better, and so did they, now, but resentment of Julie’s ascendance on the social scene had turned them bitter and hostile toward her, long after Rhonda had Eugene’s ring on a chain around her neck.
“Tell us about Carmen,” Della said.
I frowned. “Tell you what about Carmen?”
“Why did she move away?” Rhonda asked. “She said she didn’t want to.”
“Her mother went to join her dad in England, and she had to go too. I thought everybody knew that.”
“Kind of sudden, huh?” Della asked. “Couldn’t she have stayed here?”
I shifted Julie’s books under my arm. “Alone? I hardly think so.”
“You’re her sister. Why couldn’t she have stayed with you?” Faye said.
“Can you imagine my mother going along with that scene?” I said, scanning the mobs of kids streaming out of the building. “Listen, I see Maylene and them heading for the car. I gotta run.”
“I knew that first night at Elvis’s show at the stadium that you and Carmen must be sisters,” Faye added. “I never saw any two people look so much alike. Remember, I was the one who pointed her out to you.”
“Yes, Faye, I remember.”
“I miss Carmen already.” Faye’s face drooped. “And I miss you too.”
“We had some good times in the old days, Julie,” Della said. “Now that Rhonda and Eugene are an item, we would let you go to the Dairyette with us once in a while.”
Not in this new world I now live in skittered through my head, but I only smiled and said, “Sure. I gotta dash.”
Hope sprang into their faces.
“You’ve changed, Julie,” Della called after me. “We’ll call you sometime. I like you much better like you are now. Almost as much as I liked Carmen.”
With a joyful heart I skittered, like the thoughts in my head, off to join the carpool group. How wonderful to be accepted at last. At the same time a part of me felt sorry for those three. They weren’t bad sorts. What a shame they couldn’t break out of the Dilbert category.
Maylene accosted me the minute I caught up with them.
“Why weren’t you in French class today?”
I was ready for her question, but not for what followed my answer.
“I hate French. I transferred into Spanish.”
“Oh,” she said, her voice taking on the snotty tone she was so famous for.
“I thought you were getting on better in French II than any of us,” Laura said.
“I was only getting Bs. Uh . . . Mama didn’t like that.”
Maylene shot me a look. “My folks would think a B in French was great.”
“Well, Mama didn’t.”
“Then you won’t be studying with us at night anymore,” Maylene said.
“Well, I guess not. But couldn’t we study English some nights, or chemistry?”
“We’re not having trouble in those classes,” she said. “Listen, Lynn, do you want us to come to your house again tonight, or is your mother sick of us?”
“She’s sick of us,” Lynn said, climbing into the backseat of the Dreamsicle. “And so is my sister, the old hag. I hate her sometimes. Julie, you ought to be glad you never had to live with your sister.”
“I’d have loved it!” I spouted, thinking back on those nights with Julie when we were prepping me to take her place. “Sharing a room and talking all night. Me and my sister. How great!”
“I guess you do need to study English some nights,” Maylene said.
A chill ran through me. I must have made a grammar mistake. But what? I must have looked as confused as I felt, for the next thing she said was, “Me and my? Really, Julie. You’ve obviously spent too much time with that new sister of yours. It’s a good thing she left town before everything about her rubbed off on you.”
“Don’t forget your own flubs,” I said. “Philanderer instead of malingerer?”
Maylene tossed her ponytail.
“I’m sorry you aren’t going to be studying with us anymore, Julie,” Laura said.
“Me too,” I said, feeling a bit empty, even though I had never studied with them.
I’d struck out already. Lost one of my connections—the weekly study group with them. For the first time it occurred to me that, when Julie came home, she wouldn’t be able to take French anymore, and she loved it. She didn’t know a word of Spanish. Oh well, we’d have to cross that bridge when we got to it.
Darcy chimed up. “I’ll study English with you, Julie. I need all the help I can get with Shakespeare. And didn’t you get an A on Bolenbaugh’s last test?”
“Uh . . . okay.”
How could I ever pull off helping her, when I, Carmen, had a C average in grammar and I hated Shakespeare? My disguise as Julie was not long for this world if I didn’t shape up.
“Where are you going, Darcy?” Maylene asked.
“To the Dairyette. Where else? Hang loose. It’s time we got back in the groove.”
Chapter 15
TREAT ’EM ROUGH AND TELL ’EM NOTHING
When we pulled into the Dairyette, the first person we saw was none other than Farrel the Great. Julie sarcastically referred to Maylene as “the Great,” but I thought the tag fit Farrel better, the louse. In my opinion, he hadn’t done Julie as wrong as she thought he had, but I knew he wouldn’t win the school yearbook title for Most Considerate Boy. He glanced over at the Dreamsicle but didn’t move from the table where he sat gobbling up a hot dog.
Parked next to his car was Bubba John’s sleek red-and-white convertible. Leaning over the table with animated gestures, Bubba John appeared to be trying to get a reaction from Farrel, who, in turn, was reacting solely to his food. When he saw us, Bubba John strutted right over and rested both hands on the lowered window of the passenger side.
“There she is,” he said, his brows lifted and a broad smile covering his face. “Did I tell you what time Saturday night, Julie?”
Maylene turned surprised eyes on me. “You have a date with him?” she mouthed.
I gave a brief nod.
Laura’s face fell. I’d forgotten she had the hots for him.
“You told me seven, Bubba John.”
“I talked to old Farrel over there. He says you’ve got plenty of blouses a fellow can get his hand down into without struggling with buttons.”
“The son-of-a—” I caught myself in the nick, “gun!”
Lynn reached forward from the backseat and slapped his hands. “Farrel never said that. You’ve got a dirty mind, Bubba John.”
He laughed. “A guy’s gotta try. Anyway, Julie, I’m bugging out. Later, gator.”
“You can kiss off any plans we ever made!” I yelled out the window.
He stopped in his tracks. Farrel glanced up toward us. In the car, all eyes turned on me.
“Aw, Julie,” Bubba John said, moving back to the car, his face crinkled like he was about to cry. “I didn’t mean nothing by it. You know I wouldn’t try to put the make on you.” He leaned into the car and said low, “You better not blow me off, not after what I done for you.”
I was on the horns of a dilemma. I didn’t want to make him mad. I needed dates with cute boys to maintain Julie’s position in the in-crowd, but no nice girl participated in any hanky-panky. And going out with him might give the impression I was loose.
“I don’t know, Bubba John. I’ll have to think about it.”
“All right.” He scuffed off toward his car. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said over his shoulder. “Be ready to give me a big yes.”
“What on earth did he do for you?” Laura demanded the minute he was gone.
Another lie bubbled up to my lips. This might be getting easier.
“He loaned me a dime for the pay phone.”
Lynn turned her cat-that-swallowed-the-canary smile on me. “I thought you used the one from your loafer. I saw you take it out beside the phone booth.”
“I . . . uh . . . dialed the wrong number and didn’t have another dime. You saw . . . you saw me . . . at the phone booth?”
“I did. I went to the little girls’ room the same time you asked Mr. Nesbitt for permission to go. Remember, in band this morning during the break?”
The look she gave me said “Gotcha!”
“When you weren’t in there, I took a look out the restroom window and saw you heading to the pay phone.”
I managed a shrug. “I had to call Mama. I needed a note to get out of French.”
“Is that what you and Bubba John were writing so frantically?” Lynn asked.
In an instant I decided the truth, or part of the truth, would be better than another lie.
“Yep. Mama said it was okay to transfer out of French, but she naturally couldn’t write the note until tonight, and I didn’t want to flunk that test we were having today.”
“You knew we weren’t having a French test today,” Maylene said, her voice oozing suspicion. “We always study together for French tests. And why didn’t you call her from the office?”
Another lie popped up. “The clerk was on the phone, and I didn’t have time to wait for her to get off.”
I needed to flee this scene, and fast.
“Laura, let me out for a minute.”
I pushed the seat forward and accidently clomped Maylene’s toes as I climbed out of the Dreamsicle.
“Ouch!”
“Sorry.”
“Where do you think you are going?” she asked in a huff.
“To see Farrel for a minute. Do you have a problem with that?”
“What do I care what you do?” she snapped.
“I just thought you might, since Justin isn’t beating down your door.”
Her eyes shot daggers at me. This was not the way to stay on her good side.
Without a clue what I was going to say, I headed for the table where Farrel, in the process of getting up, stood straddling the bench.
In Those Dazzling Days of Elvis Page 10